by A. F. Henley
Matthew shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Enough."
If anything, it was a thank you. Nothing more than that. Besides, subtlety, he had to imagine, was not one of Gavin's most well-honed traits, and hoping that a fling could become a relationship was a sure-fire way to inspire madness. Besides, he didn't even like the guy. Gavin could be amusing, yes. Gavin was like a bored college professor poking jokes on the few in his class that didn't quite have their switches all the way on. Amusing, if you weren't the one wearing the target. And Gavin was oddly attractive, with those colorless irises, that muscled body, and all the pale skin underneath dark hair.
And just like that, Matthew's mind skipped tracks and began wondering what vampirism did to people that weren't Caucasian. What did it do to skin that was colored more richly? Did it remove all the pigment? Would they be as pale as a person who had already fair skin? What about brown eyes? Did they still go as light as Gavin's? Or did they go pink, like someone with albinism? What if their teeth, the important ones—the ones that would become the fascinating fangs—had been removed prior to becoming infected? Did they grow back?
He snatched his notebook from the counter, flipped it open and had just pressed the pen onto the paper when there was a knock at the front door. He frowned, cast a quick glance at the display on the microwave (only a single minute past seven-thirty) and closed the book. Early... who would be stopping in at such a time?
While his brain made lists—the Center, a courier, somebody selling something?—he walked to the front door with his coffee cup in his hand: out of the bright kitchen and into the dark hallway that led past the drapery-darkened living room, into the similarly dark foyer, and up to the front door. He peered through the peephole and his frown brightened instantly into a wide smile. He fumbled for the deadbolt with his free hand, flicked the smaller lock on the handle, and pulled the door open wide. "Randy!"
His smile froze.
"Step aside, Matthew."
Randy's voice was cold, low, and eerily calm. He wasn't alone. Vaughn O'Connell, big, tall, muscles like a lumberjack, stepped into the doorway from the right of the porch. Lyle O'Connell, just as big, just as tall, and with muscles that were most certainly well on their way to Daddy's size, stepped into sight from the left. On the steps were three other men who Matthew couldn't name, but that Matthew could place without having to think too hard. They'd all had their own files when Matthew had been researching the O'Connells. Pack members. Wolves. Men that became wolves. And there were stakes in their hands and fury in their eyes. The only one that didn't look ready for a good old-fashioned hanging was a curly-haired young man that stood behind them all, clenching both hands—wringing them like a grieving grandmother—and that young man looked so very, very worried. Through the still silent yard Matthew heard a door slam, not shut but slam, and he looked up and over the group toward the O'Connells' house. His mind provided him with a picture of two children, perhaps gazing apprehensively through the window of the front door, perhaps with their backs pressed against it, panting hard, clinging to each other.
"Randy?" Matthew tried to reanimate his smile. He could feel his lips quivering as his muscles tried, but failed. "What's going on?"
Randy stepped forward and dropped both hands on Matthew's shoulders before Matthew could process the move. Randy's hands gripped tight and shoved him back—hard—against the wall of the hallway. "I don't want to hurt you. But I will if I have to."
Matthew gasped, all his lungs would allow him to do, and he dropped his coffee. The mug fell. It shattered with a crash that echoed in the small foyer. He grabbed both of Randy's hands, he tried to twist them away, but Randy only dug tighter.
"Now. Go!" Vaughn snapped. "Lyle, with me. Upstairs. And the two of you get into the basement. Rafe! Get the fuck up here with Roly and check the main level."
While Matthew's consciousness foolishly rose to say something about the curse, his heart leapt into his throat. They had stakes. They were... Sweet Mother of God... They were going to...
"Stop!" Matthew screamed. "What are you doing?"
He paid no mind to the men running for the basement stairs. He gave no heed to the curly-haired man's look of terror or the whispered, "I'm so sorry," as that man pushed past. It was the O'Connells he watched. The O'Connells who were heading for the stairs that would lead up to the bedrooms. To Gavin. Where Gavin lay sleeping. "Gavin! Gavin, wake up!"
Randy growled. He spun Matthew and shoved Matthew's face into the wall, where his nose crunched against the unforgiving plaster and his teeth dug into his upper lip. His glasses twisted on his face, but that didn't stop him from getting a good view of small blue wildflowers over cream vinyl wallpaper brightening with crimson blood. Hearing footsteps pounding on staircases, he flailed against Randy's grip. "What are you doing? Randy, stop!"
"Hold fucking still!" Randy hissed. "Vaughn! What's happening? Lyle? Talk to me!"
"Here!" One of the two men hollered from above. "Up here!"
Someone cried out—it took a second for Matthew to realize it was him—and a thump resounded across the ceiling, like a bowling ball being dropped. From the corner of his eye, Matthew saw the two men on their level—Rafe and Roly whichever they each were—run to the staircase. He turned his head, trailing a bright smear of blood (Did he break my nose? Did he break my danged nose?), and he tried to reason with Randy. "Don't let them hurt him. Stop this! We've done nothing to you. You can't do this! Whatever you're thinking, you can't do this! What is even going on?"
He couldn't see Randy's face but he felt Randy's tension. Every muscle in Randy's body was like iron as Randy leaned against him. One of Randy's hands slipped off his shoulder. Matthew instantly began to buck, twist, and fight for leverage, and then Randy's hand was at the back of Matthew's head, gripping his hair and forcing his face away from the interior of the house and back toward the front door.
"All of you, now!"
Matthew was sure that voice was Vaughn's. He was likewise sure that the next set of feet he heard run up the stairs belonged to the men that had been in the basement. And he was also sure that the grunt of pain he heard belonged to none of them. That had been Gavin.
"Gavin!" His attempt to break free intensified. Sweat was beading on his forehead, as slippery as the blood that ran from his nose and lip. He could smell blood, he could taste blood, and it was the first time in his life that he'd ever felt his own blood on his skin. There hadn't even been an accident that had caused him grief. And now... now... oh, man oh man oh man. This was not right.
Heavy thumps sounded from the stairs, he could hear Gavin—Gavin stunned, Gavin sleepily confused—and his guts twisted. "Gavin!"
"Don't you hurt him," Matthew heard Gavin growl, but even with the command in his voice, Gavin's voice was remarkably calm. It brought a sharp and panicked laugh to Matthew's throat. Why was Gavin calm, for goodness sake?
Gavin's demand was followed by several sharp thumps, another series of grunts, and then Gavin's voice was much closer. "Gentlemen, please! There's no need for this!"
Matthew wrenched his head free, more grateful than ever that he kept his hair so short. "Please," he whispered. "Randy, whatever you're doing, please stop—" He looked to his left. His throat dried up and stopped his words.
Vaughn and Lyle were dragging Gavin by both feet—still naked, sleep tousled—and one of the others held a long, pointed stake to Gavin's chest. It wasn't just resting there, either. It had been shoved into Gavin's flesh—not deep enough to kill yet, thank heavens—but a sizeable run of black blood snaked down Gavin's side leaving a snail trail on the hardwood floor as they yanked him forward.
Vaughn lifted his chin at Randy and in an instant the hallway flooded with light; Randy had opened the front door.
Gavin's eyes widened. He caught Matthew's gaze, murmured, "Oh, fuck," and understanding hit Matthew like a freight train.
Confusion solidified into fury. Panic hardened into reaction. Matthew cocked his arm and thrust back with his elbow. Although t
he hit was true, if Randy's pained gasp and crumple against his back could be trusted, Matthew didn't stop there. He lifted his right foot, forced himself to look down, and brought his heel down on the top of Randy's foot as hard as he could manage. When Randy bellowed, when Randy's body gave up some of its rigidity, Matthew spun and pushed. Randy flew back, meeting the half-wall on the other side of the foyer with hips and back. Everything on it flew as well: phone, keys, wallet, and the stupid picture the GDBCG had Photoshopped to depict their wedding.
Vaughn shouted, "Hey!" and Matthew glared at Vaughn, who looked both shocked and horrified.
For a second, Vaughn seemed to consider letting go of Gavin along with the exclamation, but then Randy straightened, glowered, and said, "I'm fine." Randy shook his head as if to reorient himself, let go of a breath, and reached into the back pocket of his jeans. When he pulled his hand around, he was holding the handle of a knife. He pressed a button and the blade popped out. "Don't make me do this, Matthew. I have no interest in hurting you."
Matthew's eyes felt as big as dinner plates. Who were these guys? What the Hades had happened to the "guys that nobody had ever had any problems with"... to the people that had files that read, "community-minded, non-aggressive, functioning as expected?" His eyes tracked to Lyle. Was whatever Lyle had dealt with flipping contagious? What had gone on in D.C.?
Vaughn nodded at Lyle and they both tugged Gavin closer to the door. Gavin cried out and turned away from the light, squeezing his eyes shut. Matthew shouted and pushed away from the wall, Randy made as though to lunge toward Matthew, and Vaughn ignored them both, turning his attention to Gavin and speaking through gritted teeth. "Who sent you?"
"We can talk," Gavin replied. "I promise. Let me go and we can—"
As if they read each other's minds, both men yanked Gavin closer to the light. The man holding the stake stumbled. Gavin hissed, clutching the stake with one hand, and his arm was kicked away. One of the other men stepped on the that arm's hand of, pinning it to the ground.
"Careful," Lyle warned. "He'll be strong as fuck."
"Who sent you?" Vaughn repeated. "Don't give me any bullshit, vampire. I know what you are and Abe will have no qualms over sinking that stake where it's going to hurt you the most."
From beyond them, the curly-haired man—the man still worrying away at his own fists—sank to the floor. He wrapped his arms around his knees, his skin so gray that it was almost green. It took everything Matthew had not to flip into doctor mode and see if he was all right.
"Are you okay?" Lyle asked. "You don't have to watch this."
Incredulous, Matthew choked on a laugh. "Look at you! The two of you! Daring to wear the masks of the caring lovers while you drag mine through our house. Our house! How dare you?"
"Neither Lyle nor I are fucking vampires," Randy growled.
"And Gavin isn't a freaking wolf!" Matthew hollered.
Set by set, every eye turned in Matthew's direction.
"So you do know," Vaughn said quietly. "Rafe was right." He dropped Gavin's leg and stepped closer to Matthew. His gaze bored into Matthew's eyes.
"S-so what?" Matthew stuttered. "So what if we do? Is it such a bad thing that we'd try to find a place where there might be another couple who would understand what we're dealing with?"
"Pretty convenient." Vaughn's voice was as overwhelming as his presence. He stood less than a foot away from Matthew, and to Matthew he seemed like a giant. A very angry giant. "Do you take us for idiots?" Vaughn leaned closer and Matthew shrunk back. "Who sent you? Why are you here?"
"I t-told you," Matthew swallowed in an attempt to clear his stutter. Also a new thing for him, and wasn't that just wonderful? "We h-heard that you—"
"The GDBCG," Gavin said.
"Gavin, no!" Matthew tried to shout it, but all that came out was a choked gasp.
Gavin smiled. "Please be quiet, Matthew, and let me talk. Before I have to learn the hard way what radiation poisoning feels like."
Silence fell once again. Gavin's other leg dropped from Lyle's hand, though this time Gavin managed to stop it from slapping against the floor.
"I don't understand," Lyle said around a frown. "You're a... you're a vampire. Why would the GDBCG send a fucking vampire? This is a trick."
"Gavin," Matthew tried again. "You can't. We can't. Why are you—"
"But to answer your second question, Mr. O'Connell, the GDBCG is not why I'm here." Gavin said. He tugged his hand out from under Roly's foot and he grasped the stake again. He looked at Matthew and held Matthew's gaze. "That's not why we're here."
Lyle's back stiffened noticeably. "Did Arius send you?"
"If he'd tried, I would have laughed in his face," Gavin said, looking up at Abe. He wiggled the stake between the two of them. "Would you mind pulling this back before you actually fuck up and skewer me? I mean you no harm."
Matthew didn't know what to say. Who was Arius? Was Arius the "vampire involvement" from D.C.? How did this Arius guy fit into whatever this scenario was? Matthew cleared his throat. "Gavin, what the bleep is going on?"
Vaughn motioned for Abe to step away, and when Abe did, Gavin rose in all his naked, bleeding glory. For some reason he didn't look so sexy anymore, though. To Matthew, he suddenly seemed dangerous. Secretive. Plotting.
"Yes, Gavin, what the bleep is going on?" Vaughn parroted, lifting an eyebrow at Matthew. A 'did you really just say 'bleep'?' if Matthew ever saw one. "Why are you here?"
"To find allies, sir." Gavin stuck out his right hand. Vaughn didn't accept it. "In a war you didn't even know existed."
"But not Arius?" Lyle asked again.
Gavin smiled. He drew his hand back and brushed at the dark mess of blood drying on his abdomen. "This is so far beyond Arius that even he will be shocked by its depth." He spoke to the group but he stared directly at Matthew. "Gentlemen, if you'll allow me to dress, then I promise to give you the whole story. I ask only that you shut the door." He turned, pointed at empty air as though recalling something, and spun back. "And you may want to post a guard at any exit points and secure any means of communication. Just for the time being, of course. I have no idea how the good Doctor Dietrich is going to react to what I'm about to tell you."
Then Gavin was gone, up the stairs, and Matthew was left standing with the rest of them. For the first time in his life he began to understand the limitations of being human. It wasn't a comfortable feeling in the least.
Making the Moves
Brothers, hear me...
His fingers stilled. His expression darkened. Sweet fuck, he hated the formality. Despised it, even. "Brothers." As if. As if in a hundred thousand decades that would ever be the feeling he'd have for the rest of them. But the dark old princes insisted on it, and for now it was wise to keep the illusion of servitude. There would come a time when he would make the rules. After all, didn't they already lean in to listen? Didn't they already ask him the how and the when and the where? Did they not cock their eyebrows and pretend to confer and consider while merely waiting for him to give them the answers? Was he not, in fact, already making the rules? Setting up the game pieces? Making the moves?
And was he not already making them very well?
Oh, yes. He was.
At least in this crazy world of Skype and emails, scanners and instant messaging, there was no need for mental connections or face-to-face meetings. A good thing, really. The time he would have had to take socializing, smiling, and convincing others with his sure expressions and stances was time well saved. And there was so fucking much to do.
... It is time. Time in Europe and Asia. Time in America, in Africa, Australia, and the Antarctic. Time in every corner of every continent, every county and city of every country.
It is time to rise.
*~*~*
"Let me help you." Randy squatted beside Matthew and blotted up coffee with a kitchen towel while Matthew hunted for shards of the coffee mug. It took everything Matthew had not to snatch the towel away and
scream that the last thing he needed was help from Randy.
Instead, Matthew swallowed the emotion he was trying to convince himself was anger and not fear, and shoved his warped glasses into place for what could have been the tenth time. "I would prefer an apology."
Randy nodded. "I know you would. But I can't give you an apology yet. I've made the mistake of allowing myself to view things blindly, and it almost cost Vaughn a son." He held Matthew's gaze when Matthew turned it on him. "Not once, not twice, but three times. And for reasons I have yet to come to terms with, it cost me a mother as well. If you don't see those as good enough reasons for viewing what's going on here with skepticism, then so be it. But I won't be fooled again. I can't be. This is my family now and I will do everything in my power to keep them safe." He nodded toward the stairs when Matthew didn't say anything. "What was your husband talking about?"
Matthew sat back on his heels and stared at the handful of mug remnants. "He's not my husband. He's..." Matthew sighed. "It's complicated. The GDBCG thought you'd be more accepting of us if—"
Randy waved off his explanation. "It sounds complicated, indeed. It might be best if you saved it for our discussion, then." He stood and reached a hand out to help Matthew rise. "I wish I could shake the feeling that everything is going to hell in a hand basket and we're not going to be able to do a fucking thing to stop it." Once again his eyes drifted to the staircase. "Do you trust him?"
"More than I trust you at this point," Matthew said. "Gavin has never pulled a knife on me or broken my nose."
A pained expression clouded Randy's face. "A broken nose sucks. Having a vampire hold up an eight-year-old child and make you choose between his life and somebody else's sucks more. We had to make sure we had the upper hand this time around."
Footsteps sounded and they both turned to watch Gavin bound down the stairs. He'd showered—his short hair was still heavy with water—and while he wore a pair of sports pants that hung low on his hips, his chest was completely bare. He tapped his left pectoral almost gleefully. "I thought you might want to see that all was well on the healing front, Matthew. Come have a quick peek. I know your curiosity tends to get the better of you."
